The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition Page 16

  During those three days, Gerard spent a considerable amount of time walking around town, confirming what Silveo had said about Gwain. Their resistance pirate had certainly asked a lot of questions, most of them about Gerard. Why would he have left a book in the library?

  Even Silveo didn’t seem to have an answer to that, although Gerard suspected he’d read the book in its entirety the night they got back to the Fang. But whenever Gerard asked about it, he said, “Give me a few more days.”

  Gerard also decided to do a little recruiting. He had no trouble finding a dozen shelts on Holovarus and its holdings whom he’d known for a long time and who were able and willing to leave with him. Gerard suspected that if he put out a public announcement, he could in one stroke staff the Police with trustworthy shelts and take the cream of his father’s military. He didn’t dare mention the idea to Silveo for fear he’d do it.

  They were a day out of Holovarus when Silveo finally handed him Gwain’s book. “You won’t be able to read it,” he said. “It’s written in the phonetic, and it’s on some kind of very durable paper. I was hoping I could figure out where it was made, but I’ve never seen anything like it. The content seems to be an encyclopedia of the non-grishnard species of Wefrivain. It’s informative and has some details that are not common knowledge. There’s a whole chapter on Maijha Minor.”

  “Why do you think he left it?” asked Gerard.

  Silveo hesitated. “A mistake? I really don’t know.”

  Silveo did not seem to object to Gerard’s recruiting, although he did talk to each of the new Police himself and had Farell assess their maritime abilities. He made jokes about pulling the better sailors out of the Police into the Watch, but Gerard didn’t think he’d really do it. Restocking the galley slaves turned out to be more of a problem. Mishael Holovar kept very few slaves and no rowers. Even the larger port in Malabar only had a slave auction every other red month. Gerard doubted they would find a decent compliment of rowers before returning to the Great Islands.

  Still, they were not badly off as they sailed toward Mance. Their sails, rigging, and masts were in excellent condition, and they continued to make small, nonessential repairs as they went. Most days the Fang echoed with the pounding of hammers and the scrape of saws. Silveo even insisted on retouching the paintwork, and he found gold leaf for the figurehead and trim.

  He occasionally took the Meerkat and sailed with Farell and a few officers to nearby islands. He came back from one with a collection of gaudy mother of pearl earrings, necklaces, and bangles, with which he was absurdly pleased. He brought Thessalyn so many beautiful shells that their cabin soon grew cluttered with them.

  Gerard worked with his new recruits in the mornings, read to Thessalyn in the afternoons, and listened to her play in the evenings. His arm healed where Silveo had cut him during the storm, and the bruises around his ribs faded. Sometimes he flew with Alsair to nearby islands and brought back interesting edibles—specialties of various regions. Alsair was no longer trying to hide aboard ship, although he often went off alone to hunt or stretch his wings. Silveo usually ignored him, but twice Gerard overheard him ask Alsair to fly ahead and look for something.

  Gerard had not attempted to tell Alsair the story Silveo had told them on Holovarus-4. He didn’t think it would change Alsair’s opinion. Also, although Silveo had never said so, Gerard felt that the story had been related in confidence and he had no right to share it. Silveo had worked hard to kill everyone who knew that story, and Gerard doubted that anything other than Thessalyn’s magic could have drawn it out of him.

  She mentioned the picnic from time to time in reference to other things. One day she said thoughtfully, “Silveo can’t stand to be touched, can he?”

  Gerard would not have thought of it, but as soon as she said it, he knew she was right. For all Silveo’s vaunted promiscuity, Gerard couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone lay a hand on him in public. He remembered how the admiral had recoiled the first time Thess tried to hug him and how he’d nearly stabbed her the second time. Gerard’s attempt to pick him up in order to save his life had ended in blood.

  “He’s afraid of so many things,” said Thessalyn, “but he’s so good at hiding them, no one ever knows.”

  “Shinies,” said Gerard. “Make it flashy enough, and no one will look too closely.”

  As they neared Mance, Gerard spent more and more time with Thessalyn. He’d grown accustomed to having her nearby, and he was dreading her imminent departure. She seemed to understand this, while at the same time feeling excited about revisiting her school. She had many friends there and Gerard doubted she would miss him as much as he would miss her. Their days slipped away in sun and salt and sweet, and then they were back among the holdings of the Great Islands.

  They stopped in Mage—a holding of Mance—and procured what Silveo described as “a splendid team of wave beaters”—about half of them leons and the other half big shavier. They arrived in Mance’s largest harbor town, Solamade, in fine form with even the minor damage from the storm repaired and the ship sanded and gleaming. Mance was the premiere island for learning in Wefrivain, with eight different schools. It was also the banking capital, with more cowries stamped there than anywhere else. One could trade a variety of other currencies for cowry coins in Mance, including the flat cocoa bean from the Lawless Lands and the strange velum currency of the Sunkissed Isles.

  Thessalyn’s school was on the far side of the island, and Gerard took her there himself early on the second day after their arrival. Silveo handed her a large package before they left. “Open it later,” he said, and turned away before Thessalyn could even try to hug him good-bye.

  Alsair was small for carrying two, although he could do it in an emergency. Gerard hired a big pegasus for Thessalyn and himself, and put her belongings on Alsair, who grumbled about being treated as a pack animal. As Gerard expected, Thessalyn’s friends and teachers welcomed her with excitement. They had not been on the school grounds for a quarter watch before she’d received half a dozen invitations to stay at various homes. Several of her younger classmates admired Gerard as though he were a new and attractive accessory, which made Alsair snicker and Thessalyn blush.

  They stayed the night in the home of a favorite instructor. Thessalyn remembered the school grounds and surrounding town well enough to walk them almost as though she could see. She took Gerard to several favorite spots and introduced him to so many enthusiastic scholars that departure the next morning was almost a relief. He kissed her good-bye, told her to enjoy herself and he would see her again soon. Then he started a leisurely journey back to the Fang with Alsair. Gerard did a little recruiting in one of Mance’s small towns. He thought he’d managed to generate some interest with a number of educated shelts and encouraged them to visit the docks the next day or to apply in Lecklock within the next few months.

  He got back to the Fang late on the second day after he’d left and went to ask Silveo how long they would be in port, so that he would know what to tell the shelts he was recruiting. Silveo, however, was not in his cabin, and Gerard noticed that the ship was unusually quiet and tense. Upon questioning Farell, he learned that Silveo, who never spent the night ashore, had disappeared two days ago.

  Chapter 31. Missing

  Selkies are seal shelts. There are several subspecies, but they are all secretive and have as little to do with fauns and panauns as possible. They avoid the wyvern-infested waters of Wefrivain, even though its islands and reefs make good habitat for them. Harbormasters love to enslave selkies. They can speak, and they are very intelligent, so they are more useful than cowry catchers. Panaun sailors say that selkies have tasty meat, and their skins make good waterproof clothing.

  —Gwain, The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain

  Silveo had left a few hours after Thessalyn and Gerard. He’d been dressed in blue and white linen with only one set of earrings—quiet by his standards. He’d exchanged a few comments with the sailors on deck. One had ventured t
o ask where he was going, and he’d been heard to respond, “Looking for trouble.” He had not come back to the ship that night. It was now after dark of the second day, and he’d still not returned. No one, including Farell or his ship’s boy, knew where he’d gone.

  Gerard had served with Silveo long enough to know that this was highly unusual behavior. Silveo considered the Fang his home and never slept ashore unless some urgent need required it. In spite of Silveo’s take-no-prisoners policy, there were still many shelts in Wefrivain who had reason to hate him, and, of course, there was always the Resistance. It was the general opinion aboard ship that he was probably dead. He’d already survived far longer than most admirals of the Temple Sea Watch.

  “Skipper’s finally run into more trouble than he has knives,” muttered a sailor on deck. “S’pity. He was a good skipper, for all he was a foxling and a dock rat.”

  The sailors had lit more torches on deck than was customary. They should have been in town enjoying themselves, but mostly they weren’t. They weren’t singing or dancing, either. They weren’t playing flutes or fiddles or carving or scribbling letters. They were just waiting. Gerard paced the deck of the Fang as the night grew later. He felt as though he should be doing something, but he didn’t know what. He could tell that Alsair wanted to say “good riddance,” but Gerard’s manner must have made him think better of it, because he went off to their cabin without saying anything.

  Gerard racked his brain, trying to think of where Silveo might have gone looking for trouble. They had no reason to think Gwain was on Mance. As far as Gerard knew, Silveo did not know of any suspicious persons on Mance. But Silveo knew all kinds of things he didn’t tell me.

  There’s nothing I can do, thought Gerard. I should go to bed. But he didn’t. One by one, the sailors left the deck, all except the night watch. Around midnight Gerard climbed into the maintop and found Farell there alone, looking out over the lights of the city. Gerard leaned against the mast beside him.

  They were quiet for a long time. Finally Gerard said, “Where would he go, Farell? You were his lover; surely you have some idea.”

  Farell laughed bitterly. “I’ll tell you a secret about our admiral, Gerard. I’ve been sailing with him since he came to the Watch. I’m not saying Silveo doesn’t have his frisky moments, but mostly what he wants from a ‘lover’ is a warm body to curl up against at night. He has horrific nightmares when he sleeps alone. Sometimes he just wants someone in the room—a nightlight, another set of ears to hear an assassin’s footfall. He’ll give what he thinks he needs to give to get that, but nothing more.”

  Gerard remembered something Thessalyn had said. It’s just the price he thinks he has to pay.

  “I don’t ask anything of him,” continued Farell. “I don’t even like boys, but I’ll keep him company. He’s gone away and come back to me several times. I have known shelts to leave him out of boredom, but that doesn’t usually happen because he takes good care of his bed-warmers. I have a son on a merchant ship; Silveo got him an excellent position. I’d be a friend if he’d let me, but Silveo doesn’t want friends. He doesn’t like it when shelts get attached, and he fears being a nuisance. He changes his lovers like other shelts change bed linen, but he’s not nearly as busy as he likes the sailors to think.”

  Farell paused. “If he comes back, please don’t tell him I said any of this. He’d kill me. I mean, he really might. Silveo values his legend; he guards it.”

  “Why are you telling me?” asked Gerard.

  Farell turned to look at him in the moonlight, his expression almost envious. “He trusts you. Silveo doesn’t trust anyone. I mean, no one, Gerard. He has followers and audiences and the occasional real lover; he does not have friends. But the way he behaves with you and your wife—that’s the closest I’ve ever seen him. You probably know him better than I do, and if anyone can figure out where he’s gone, it’s you.”

  Gerard felt sad and ill. This is not helping me, Farell.

  He went off to bed in the last watch of the night. Alsair stirred and yawned as he came in. “Has he come back?”

  Gerard shook his head. He lay down on the bed fully clothed. Alsair sighed. He hopped up on the bed, making it creak dangerously. He rested his head and one paw on Gerard’s chest. “He was a mean, unscrupulous, dishonorable tyrant who only kept you around because you were useful and hard to kill. You’re making him into something he wasn’t, Gerard, because you’re lonely, and you’re already missing Thess.”

  Gerard shook his head.

  Alsair nuzzled his cheek. “Alright, so disagree with me. Say something. Talk to me.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Where would he go?”

  “A brothel?” suggested Alsair.

  Gerard shook his head. “Silveo doesn’t patronize brothels.” He’d never thought about it, but it was true. After what Farell had said and knowing Silveo’s background, Gerard doubted that any of Silveo’s relationships were actually coercive, at least as Silveo saw them.

  “Looking for trouble,” muttered Gerard. “What does that mean?”

  Alsair snorted. “From Silveo? Not much.”

  Gerard sat up and looked at him. “You’re right.”

  Alsair seemed confused. “What—?”

  Gerard drew a deep breath. “What if he wasn’t looking for trouble? What if he just said that to be silly?” The more Gerard thought about it, the more he knew he was right. It was exactly the sort of thing Silveo would say when it wasn’t true. It was the kind of thing that he would not have said if it was true. Gerard lay back down. Where would Silveo go if he was just out to stretch his legs, out for amusement?

  Chapter 32. Final Warning

  We are told that wyverns protect us from wizards and shape-shifters, but where are these monsters? They appear as nothing but legends in old ballads. No living person has seen such a creature, because they do not exist.

  —Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns

  Gerard woke with the answer. He sat straight up, knocking his chin against Alsair’s beak. “Clothes or books!”

  Alsair growled and pricked Gerard with his claws, but Gerard shoved the paw off his chest and got up. “Mance is famous for books. Gwain and Silveo both like books. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier.”

  He strode out of the cabin rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his hair. The sun had just risen, and the harbor was a sea of mist. Gerard had been on Mance several times briefly when he was a watch master. He’d been here a little longer on his coming-of-age tour, and he had a vague memory of Scrivener’s Way—the area of Solamade best known for books. It was on the far side of town, a long walk from the docks. He had to ask several shelts how to get there, but he did arrive about midmorning. The district was large, full of bookshops and items related to the making and maintenance of books.

  Gerard bought some food from a street vendor, consumed it in a few bites, and started looking through the shops. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that he would know when he found it. About noon, he stepped into a shop that specialized in old books. Gerard walked along the shelves, scanning the authors and titles. When he came to the back of the store, he turned and saw something in a chink between the wall and a bookcase. It was just a glimmer of metal, but Gerard had sharp eyes. After glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he unsheathed his sword and used it to lever the item out of its crevice.

  It was a throwing knife—a very plain specimen. Gerard had no way of proving that it belonged to Silveo, except that his gut told him it did. Silveo owned every conceivable kind of throwing knife, and he lost and replaced them regularly. He had a few “shiny” knives, but he only pulled them out when he was seeking to impress. Gerard re-sheathed his sword and tucked the knife into his boot sheath.

  He looked again at the chink. In order to have landed there, the knife had to have been thrown from the very back wall. Did someone corner you here, Silveo?

&
nbsp; He stalked around the bookshop several times. He thought he saw scratches on one wall that could have come from a knife glancing off, and he found stains on the stone in one place that could have been blood. Of course, the scratches could have come from a piece of furniture, and the stains could have come from almost anything. I wish I had your nose, Silveo.

  A grishnard clerk sat at the desk near the bookstore’s entrance, reading. She looked up as Gerard leaned over the desk. “Was there a foxling in here any time in the last few days?”

  The clerk shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve only been here today.”

  “Who was here yesterday? And the day before?”

  She inched away from him. “Just another girl. We don’t own the bookstore. We just work here.”

  “Who owns it?” asked Gerard. He realized he was being menacing, and he didn’t care.

  “Marsh and Fin,” said the clerk. “They own all the stores on this block.” She stood and took a step back. “Now I have to close for the afternoon. Please leave.”

  Gerard leaned over the desk and collared her with one hand. “What have you done with him?” he snarled.

  The girl looked truly frightened. “I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Please let go of me. I’ll scream.”

  Gerard released her in disgust and stalked out of the bookstore. None of the others were closing. He proceeded down the entire block, asking every clerk whether they’d seen a foxling. One admitted that he might have seen him two days ago. “He has silver-white fur and hair,” said Gerard in annoyance. “How many silver foxlings do you get through these shops?” Several shop owners on other streets positively admitted to having seen Silveo. One said he’d sold Silveo a book—something about Maijha Minor.

  Gerard stopped in the late afternoon to eat. Silveo is probably dead. They’ve probably dumped him in the harbor by now. I’ll be lucky to even find his body.

  A half watch later, most of the shops started closing. Lanterns were lit in the streets. Gerard had noticed a few urchins and vagrants during the day, but with nightfall, he began to see more. This is not a good part of town after dark. I should go back to the ship. Maybe he’s even there.